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The fact she wants to remember who is who and when we see who leads to additional “puppy dog” stares from me and Nolan both.
I don’t think he can help the shit any more than I can.
We want her here with us.
Working with us.
Living life with us.
Simply existing with us.
How we managed to live without her presence is like a car running with low transmission fluid.
It can be done.
But it shouldn’t.
And the damage you sustain is not only costly, it’s often permanent.
Being full of fried food and beer has me wanting to stay put; however, seeing Bunny continuously wiggle her hips in her seat has me defeatedly sighing, “You wanna dance, don’t you, baby?”
“You two owe me at least one…”
“I don’t remember agreein’ to that,” Nolan playfully jabs back.
“You know what they say,” I warmly remind at the same time I stand up, “a well-tuned engine roars, a poorly kept one won’t floor.”
“People don’t say that, Kid,” my best friend good naturedly argues and rises to his feet too.
“Pretty sure gearheads do.”
“Nope.” Bunny excitedly stands up to take our offered hands. “Not even them.”
Our trek to the area where people are wiggling around is short. Almost immediately, our girl begins bouncing her shoulders to the rhythm of the Queen song the band is covering. It isn’t until they get to the chorus that I recognize the music and find myself singing along to “You’re My Best Friend”. Nolan and I both place a hand on Bunny’s lower back to sway our frames with her yet fold the very tips of our fingers together to be linked to another as well.
Like all the other shit that happens between us it feels natural.
Like it’s shit we’ve done forever.
Care or concern over what anyone else thinks about our situation doesn’t arise even once in my mind.
Maybe because I’m happy?
Maybe because we’re all truly happy and that’s all that matters?
That should ever matter?
“Crazy Little Thing Called Love” is played next and our woman – clearly no longer satisfied with our in-place swaying – breaks up the position by playfully pushing us apart. Her head sassily whips back and forth while her hips mimic the movements in her floral pink mini dress. Bends to the beat are accompanied by finger points to each of us eventually convincing me first to do something in return. Grabbing her hand to pull her close and dip her on the perfect note not only receives me instant smiles of praise, but it also spurs the man I know better than I know myself to enter competition mode. He grabs her hand the second she’s upright, tugs her to his chest, walks her a couple steps and spins her around. Bunny tips her head back on an open mouth laugh and follows his lead until I’m intervening right as the guitar solo begins.
Awkward dance moves – I’m sure I should be ashamed of – battling against out of date moves – Nolan should definitely retire – repeatedly send the beautiful brown skin beauty that’s literally taking my breath away with her hip twists into a giggle-based frenzy.
One more Queen song is played before the band announces a much-needed break, a break that in turn allows us to sit back down to finish our drinks and pay the bill.
Unfortunately for us, paying the bill becomes its own unpredicted problem.
“I can fuckin’ pay, Nolan,” I gripe on a hard tug of the leather holder. “Forfuckssake, man. I make good money too.”
“Yes, I’m aware of your fuckin’ allowance, Kid,” he bites back at the same time he pulls the object to him. “I pay it.”
